eastern bodies
given to extremes, many monks, ascetics, martyrs. experience seems similar,
across globes, fresh baked croissants. the cinnamon of the desert—the jam of
the cave—Luther grappling with his brains. religious bodies, forcing construct,
favoring restrictions. the cloister existence, the ashram life, our bodies as
instruments of conversation. to have lived. to have died. to have an old soul.
miseries. trying
to subdue sorrows. captured in a never-ending blizzard; older with each return,
golden by sunshine, enlove with the face of enchantments.
we haven’t measured in quality the imbuing legacies of women; as candescent color, opalescent emotion,
irrigation, signs, flowers, souls.
western science
does those things. neurotransmitters are decoded. doctors know their
curriculum.
to float is
spirit, to be present in soul, no such thing as becoming entirely free.
Pacific Islands.
souls at the cliff. unembodied spirits, sitting in stillness, making music with
a piccolo.
damaged or complete, albeit, complete, unfree, palming a freesia. prosaic absolution. a bride we cherish. most understanding in our insistence. to have adored, to have determined, while many, despite, certain pains, despite, attitudinal hazards, experience more goodness than badness. we speak of something deeper, a mental portrait, malaise made holy, petition by penance. an inner storm. a driving whirlwind.
when things seem correct, we may feel dizzy, with alarm in our arcs.
much a tragic harmony, a mystic travesty, filled with righteous trauma.
